Because
by ABOVEandBEYOND
Summary: Because I'm a bastard, and I broke your heart before you could break mine. Logan's thoughts during the "break" after the whole Jess/Rich Man's Shoe blowout.


After "Let Your Balalaikas Ring Out." An introspective interlude as Logan contemplates what he's done, the foolish mistake he made, and the loss that accompanies it. It's ultimately a ROGAN, although, I like that Logan gets his reality check like this. I like the repentant Logan, and it's how he's portrayed here.

Oh, and I know how I've not updated anything. It's tragic, but I have no inspiration for them anymore, and although I have the next few chapters for CB and Meddlesome Fate, it just doesn't feel right. It's why this oneshot is appropriate. No follow-ups expected. Perfect.

Well, I mustn't keep you guys any longer! _Go ahead!_

Because

Because he was, first and foremost, about himself. Come on. Let's get that straight.

Because he was a young, virile man. Because he had other options. Because he didn't need the ball and chain tying him down. Because he was 23, goddammit. Because he needed some room to experiment. Because he was sick of Colin and Finn mocking his _"whipped ass."_ Because there were plenty of others out there that were ready and willing. Because it was getting too serious, too heavy, too invested. Because he never did work well with responsibility. Because it would've been moronic to taint these last few moments of freedom with the ever burdensome duty of being a loyal boyfriend. Because it was just easier this way.

Because he was a goddamn idiot. _Plain and simple._

He was. He knew. He'd have to be to have Rory Gilmore and then, without so much a fight, let her walk out.

No, to _push _her out. Out of his heart. Out of his mind. Out of his life.

Because he was some kind of twisted masochist deep down, and he didn't know why he did these things.

Honestly, he didn't know.

_(Because she was getting too close.)_

Really, why would he ruin such a good thing?

_(Because I cared too much.)_

How could he have been so stupid?

_(Because I could no longer even glance at any other girl.)_

Did he like being miserable?

_(Because everything and anything else suddenly became inconsequential.)_

Did he enjoy hurting people?

_(Because she could change everything with just a smile.) _

Couldn't he have kept his mouth shut around Honor?

_(Because I was falling for her.)_

Really, he had no clue as to why he would do such a horrible thing.

And because, falling for her was more dangerous than any 7-story scaffold and more deadly than any disease.

Because that's a risk that I cannot take. I take calculated risks. I may seem reckless and relentless, but I'm more prudent than one might initially believe. I can handle the base-jumping and the skydiving and the double black diamond jaunts during avalanche alerts. I can take a punch to the gut and the epic 20 line of straight shots.

But this? This—I could not handle. This was bigger than broken bones and broken bank accounts.

This was a fucking broken heart. _My_ fucking broken heart.

_Because I'm a bastard, and I broke her heart before she'd be able to break mine._

But I'll move on, right? Inevitably, someone else will saunter along, and I'll find that I can't even remember…_what'sherface?_ And then with a whisky here, another night of debauchery there, her little quirks become little annoyances far in the past. Her once familiar name becomes something foreign and distasteful on his tongue. Her love of coffee no longer permeates his life, and she's just that girl that he once, a long, long time ago, had a little fling with. You know, but nothing serious or anything. And blue becomes blue, not something captivating and deep and beautiful. It's just blue. The color. Blue is just a color. Of course, it always has been just a color.

He always did like silver better anyhow.

So, he couldn't wait until that became.

But, first, one step at a time.

And step one starts with a little bit of charming, a little bit of flirting with the blonde in the corner—the one that's been eyeing him down all evening. The one that's been sending him little winks and twirls of her hip all with a little seductive smirk on her lips.

Right, this is exactly his type of girl. Loose and easy. No hassle. He hated hassle. He's had enough with all the hassle already.

It starts with a drink or two. He downs a few, or maybe more than a few. He feels the burn cascade down his throat, and he feels the numbing glaze over his body. He wants to feel numb, especially tonight. Especially for what he's about to do.

He sends one over to the girl in the corner. She sees it and giggles. Her giggle grates his ear, but it's characteristic of her type. The loose (morally and sexually), easy girls.

And now, he waits.

One…two…three…

"So, I was wondering when you'd make a move on me, Huntzberger. It sure took you long enough," She cooed as she laid a hand on his chest. "You sure know how to make a girl wait for you."

"Yeah, and I can make a girl do a whole lot more, also," his voice answers back, gravelly and deep. He plasters on his signature smirk.

"Oh yeah? Care to demonstrate?" She bends over to whisper in her ear, all the while pushing her chest at his face.

He looks.

"I'd be glad to." Huskily, he responds. He downs the remnants of his scotch. He throws a few bills and starts walking toward the exit. He doesn't look back. Inevitably, she follows. Somehow, he's not the least bit surprised.

And he's back into the swing of things.

And as the door shuts to his apartment, she latches her lips on his. Only, he can't stop thinking how it's all wrong. She tastes all wrong. Like cigarettes and vodka and brine. Not the taste of raspberry and coffee and promises like he's grown familiar with.

She rests her leg high on his hip. His hands find their way up, higher and higher. Her skin is all wrong. It's clammy and leathery and too tan. It's not like the silky smooth coolness of the legs he's grown accustomed to. It's not the wonderfully pale and gloriously freckled legs he wants around him.

His other hand is buried in her hair, pushing it back. Only, it's all wrong. It feels synthetic and dry. It's voluminous and stiff from the countless layers of hairspray. It doesn't tickle his neck, it scratches it. Not the natural, soft strands he's grown familiar with.

She reeks of alcohol. And her lip-gloss is haphazardly splayed across her mouth. He reasons that he probably doesn't smell much better, and with his current state, he probably doesn't look much more orderly either, but he can't shake the feeling that this is all wrong. He can't find warmth behind the thinly-veiled lust in her flat brown eyes.

He thinks that's she's forcing this too much. Her ass sticks out. Her lips are forever pouting. Her moans come too frequently and too exaggeratedly. All he knows is that with Rory, it had always been effortless.

And even against his better judgment and his persistent nagging conscience, he enters her anyway. She's not the comfort he seeks, he knows immediately. She's not the tight center he had sought, he feels instantly.

Now, he just cannot shake the fact that it doesn't feel anything like the way he's grown accustomed to.

But he tries anyway. He imagines that _she is_ what he's grown so accustomed to. That her hair is the silky, vibrant chestnut brown he knows, and her eyes are the boundless azure that has always left him captivated. And in the moment, he's happy. His heart lifts, and he thrusts into her with mounting pressure. He nuzzles her neck in slow, loving circles and whispers a garbled string of promises. He picks up the pace and holds her against his chest with his arms tightly attached to her waist. He feels transcendent and immeasurably joyous all at once. He vows never to let this feeling go. He vows to never let her go, not for anything.

Because it's her. It's always been her. He can see the azure now.

Because he can't fool himself. Blue had always been his favorite color.

And he doesn't know what he did or how much groveling he's done to get her back, but he doesn't care. He kisses her with so much fervor that she sinks uncontrollably into the bed. He thrusts violently and penetrates her to an incredible depth. His eyes roll to the back of his head, and as he climaxes, he screams her name.

"Rory! God, Rory!"

And as he rocks the last of the wave out, he opens his eyes. Except it's not at all what he has grown familiar with. Her eyes are a flat brown, and her hair is too blonde. Her elbows jut at uncomfortable angles and her toes are skeletal. Her chin is square, and not the gently dimpled curve he knows.

It's all wrong.

It's not her. It's never been her.

Speechless, he falls back into the sheets. She snuggles to his side and giggles. She places wet kisses all over his chest and lathers his nipples.

And he just stares. At the ceiling. At the clock. At anywhere that isn't her

Because he feels filthy. He feels itchy and disgusted and disappointed all at once. He feels nauseous and miserable and utterly delusional. He pushes her off him in one swift motion and slides out of bed.

He's naked, but he doesn't care.

Surprised and spurned, she asks aghast, "Excuse me?! This and you shout the wrong name during sex! Logan, you are such a fucking bastard."

At the side of the bed, he sits crouched over. His head in his hands. His eyes clenched shut, and although he can barely hear a word she says, he did catch the last line. He almost chuckles. He is. He knows.

"Look, Caroline…" he starts, his voice sounds thick with emotion and raw with regret.

"CHRISTINA!" she shouts back at him, affronted, one skeletal foot stomping against the ground.

"Yeah. Whatever. Just get the hell out, alright?" He points at the door.

Huffily, she trudges to the door.

And in the silence of the room, with the rising sun blaring through his windows, he admits to himself that he's been a complete fool. He admits to himself that he needs her. He admits to himself that he loves her.

And he knows, just like that, that he's got to fight for her, that he won't stop until he has her back in his arms.

(_Because he doesn't give a shit out his freedom, about his other options.)_

_(Because nothing else and no one else matters but her, and it's high time he got over himself and his cursed pride.)_

_(Because it no longer mattered if was endlessly mocked if he could be with her.)_

_(Because nothing felt right anymore without her.)_

Because he loved her. _Plain and simple._

Well, there it is. Please review. Seriously, I like the feedback. Plus, I've always felt a bit unacknowledged on this site. You guys could help a bit there.


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